


Awake

by DDElliott



Category: Adventure - Fandom, Masters of Science Fiction (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Dystopia, Mystery, Near Future, Other, Post Apocalypse, Science Fiction, Short Story, lost in future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 16:18:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17103908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DDElliott/pseuds/DDElliott
Summary: Alone and searching for purpose, a lone man struggles to find himself and hold on to sanity.





	Awake

"Awake"

Images of faces and places emerge and swirl like trails of incense from the darkness. Some are serene and calming while others are disturbing and alarming. Sounds and movement collide with one another and form brief glimpses of what were once vivid and fond memories. The images begin to slow, a pretty young girl in a bright colorful dress, a seaside landscape and a street vender selling Italian ice, green pastures and tall sturdy trees. But as the pictures continue something begins to change. The nature of the images, they speed up and become jumbled like a dream that eventually turns into a nightmare. Feelings of helplessness and vulnerability overtake his mind and contentment changes into regret and confusion. A once placid sunny landscape is replaced with dark days and burning buildings, as screams and cries of pain wash away his innocence. The tension builds and the sound of a heartbeat racing to keep pace eventually overtakes his fragile psyche and his eyes suddenly spring open and he became aware. A rough callused hand covers the man’s eyes and wipes the dampness from his face and continues up through his long and unruly mane. He blinks a few times before sitting up and coming to terms with his life one more time. He realizes that he’s awake and that he has been dreaming again. He hates when the night comes, not because of the stillness or the dark. He has no fear of monsters coming to get him while he slumbers; no, his monsters roam the recesses of his fragile mind. The reality of his life is as much a comfort as it was a burden. He alone carries the thoughts and memories of a world given up to destruction. His aching head contains the sum total of all that the world once was. Only what permeates his attention has survived until this moment. He’s reminded of the words he himself has spoken many times as a reminder to himself, to “stay sharp and recall all that he can because if he forgets even the tiniest detail, it will cease to exist” and one more morsel of man’s knowledge will have been lost forever.  
The weary man sits on the edge of an old weathered mattress which has long since given way and offers no support to its occupant. The torn and frayed material is the least of its offenses. The smell of damp and decay mix and mingle with his sweat giving off an offensive odor that he doesn’t seem to notice anymore. The long yellow rays of sunlight pierce through the cracks in the walls and ceiling like spears of light. Tiny particles of dust dance across the light like ghostly clouds of ether. Each night he fights to keep his eyelids from closing shut until the gentle rays of sunshine cross his face and returns him to the present. He rubs his face with his rough hands hoping all the while to open his eyes and see the past once more. But even before he removes his hands from in front of his tired face he knows the truth. He’s alone.

"What day is it?” he wonders in silence before catching himself. His mind recalls the rule as his lips start to move and he speaks “Do not think, say it out loud.” His voice sounds funny to his ears he thinks before saying “My voice sounds odd today” in a clear baritone. “Hello, hello.” He repeats several times as the words bounce off the dirty stone walls surrounding him. The combination of bare granite and high ceilings cause his voice to echo and reverberate from one massive room of his home to another. If he didn’t know any better he might think someone was yelling from somewhere else in the building, but he did know better. The sound of the echo did bring him a small fleeting sense of comfort though. He could pretend he wasn’t all alone and that his friend was hollering back to him, teasing him from far away. He stands up and grabs hold of his walking stick with one end whittled into a sharp point and walks out into the fresh air and catches a whiff of the summer flowers blowing in the breeze and notices a flock of black birds fluttering freely high above his head. He leans his shoulder against an enormous pillar of stone just outside of a large carved archway, covered in reliefs of flowers and vines and fruits much like the ones he used to buy at a small corner shop just down the street from his apartment building on 5th street. But “the fruit, just like the shop was long gone now.” He said out loud in obedience to the rule. “Today is the day for shopping”. He told the scattering chipmunks crawling around a pile of sticks at his feet. In several spots now the cement and stone floors had buckled from the persistence of time and pressure, leaving gaps for small seeds and dirt to find their way in. In spite of man’s efforts nature burst forth and fought to reclaim the land, swallowing any reminders of the life he had once lived. And on the wall just next to a door to the rear of his room a faded sign hung. Unfortunately he was unable to decipher its perplexing message. Odd characters stretched from one end of the sign to the other in two rows, one above the other. Like a schoolboys math problem written by his teacher on a black board in the front of the classroom, the strange hieroglyphs challenged him each day as he passed by.

He put a few small objects into the deep pockets of his jacket and picked up an empty plastic gallon milk jug with a string tied firmly to the handle and tossed it over his shoulder holding the other end of the line. “Time to go.” He informed the brush and rubble under his feet. As he walked passed a large pool of stagnant water he kicked some pebbles making them plummet into the murky soup and disappear under the scum covered surface. The water rippled a few moments and then went still again. He glanced out ahead and informed himself and anyone else who wasn’t listening that “it was time to map out the southern-cross.” He referred to the lower flat lands to the south where the pieces of an old monument had fallen and intersected another. The crux was noticeable for over a mile away and made up one of the permanent landmarks left behind by the old engineers. He didn’t care much for most creations of old that occupied space in and around his native home. He did however have respect for the various objects that had been carefully planned out and constructed in years past. He admired the tall buildings, fountains and bridges that remain partly intact. But for the most part he ignored the remnants of civilization. “There wasn’t anything civil about it.” He mumbled to himself then once again stopped and shouted in a clear audible voice “There wasn’t anything civil about it!” Then he continued on toward his destination. 

Trees and bushes grew plentiful in every direction for miles. Grasslands and fields of dandelions covered the land as he made his way further south. Stalks of weeds stood as tall as the man concealing all manner of wonders. But it wasn’t the peculiar things that he was looking for. He was in search of food, wild vegetables and fruits that might still grow out past his usual routes. He had begun to exhaust his supply of berries and nuts that he typically foraged for. Only time would tell if there was anything edible on the other side of the southern-landmark ahead. He made weekly trips in carefully designed patterns which he kept within his mind to systematically make his rounds in an organized fashion. “It’s important to plan things out before taking action that might waste my time.” He stated like a drill sergeant to a platoon full of new recruits. But his orders went ignored by the saplings that stood at attention on both sides of his pathway as he passed by.

He would stop walking every once in a while to look around and inspect his new surroundings. “It’s important to keep your bearings while exploring.” He said aloud as he surveyed the grounds from high atop one of the twisted oak trees. He had learned to be an exceptional tree climber since before the war. Now that talent served him well and more often than not, he wound up spotting things that he had marched passed down on the ground a dozen or more times without even noticing before. Up in the treetops his vantage point gave him a totally new perspective. Once, several weeks ago he had eaten his noon meal on top of a large stone near the edge of a cliff that overlooked a deep cavern. He sat eating for a while before finishing and getting up to leave. He hadn’t taken more than a step or two before he tripped over something sticking out of the ground that caught his shoe lace. Before getting up he looked for the object that had just caused his fall and discovered something solid and unyielding. Figuring at first that it must have been an exposed root or stick in the dirt, he grabbed hold of it with both hands and pulled but to his surprise it wouldn’t budge. He tried it a second and a third time before deciding to dig around it and uncover the strange thing embedded in the soil. As he worked to free it he dug farther and farther until he discovered what looked like badly corroded muzzle of a large caliber machine gun. The shape was discernable even though it had oxidized and begun to chip away. He continued his dig until realizing that the other end was still attached to a rusty mount that rested atop what he knew had to have been a military tank from the war and had sunken deep below his feet. It was about this time when his curiosity got the better of him and he started looking more closely at the shapes all around him when he walked, keeping track of his unexpected finds along the way. He rested along a river bank as the sun dipped low toward the horizon and day turned to evening. He watched some small furry creatures diligently building a home within the slow moving waters as he chewed the last piece of a green apple. He stayed until evening turned into night before brushing himself off and stating “It’s time to head home.”

The moonlight lit his way and he managed to find his way back to his quiet abode. Among the shadows of old familiar shapes he could make out his home not far up ahead when he suddenly felt something sting the back of his neck, and then again his shoulder. By now it had dawned on him just what it was and he started to run! He didn’t look up as acid raindrops began to strike his body and the ground all around him as well. He was at a full run now as drop after drop began to fall more rapidly until turning into a total downpour of scorching liquid fire. He reached the doorway to his home in a matter of minutes but not before getting soaked with the burning liquid that fell relentlessly from the storm clouds that gathered overhead. He dropped his jacket and kicked off his boots as he pulled his shirt up over his head and slid off his muddy pants. He dug through his belongings until he found a dry blanket covered all over by pictures of old cartoon characters and huddled beneath it in the dark trying to stay warm. The pain caused by the tiny burns to his skin had already begun to dry out and scab over while he warmed himself by the small campfire he had started. The soft warm glow of the small red, blue and yellow streamers of flame gathered on his face and cast enormous shadows behind his back on the smooth walls all around him. Outside he could see the thick sheet of rain coming down and dripping through the large hole in the ceiling on the opposite end of the room. He was careful to avoid the rain but sometimes it came without warning, catching him outside and helpless.

Minutes seemed like hours as he positioned himself next to the warm flicker of light in the midst of a carefully laid circle of stones on the floor. All was quiet as usual until a sound shot out from the dark like sound of someone beating something against one of the battered wooden doors not far down the long main hall from where he sat. Instantly the man dropped the blanket to the floor as he stood up, sharp stick in hand and took a defensive stance. He froze and waited to meet whatever was closing in on him. His eyes surveyed the still blackness for any sign of movement but as seconds began to pass, he became more alarmed. “What are you?!” He yelled but no one was there to answer him. It crossed his mind that perhaps he had been mistaken; his mind was playing tricks on him. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard something plain as day and later found nothing out of place.” He admitted out loud. But just as he started to straighten up and lower his defense’s another loud unmistakable ‘bang’ came from somewhere even closer to his position. He kept his eyes peeled for any sight of possible movement but just as before nothing came. After close to an hour with his back to the campfire and eyes roaming to and fro, the night slowly turned to dawn and the shadows began to drift apart exposing the features of his humble dwelling. As the sun came up and light filled the stark room with its grey walls and roof of black rotting wood and corroding metal sheets. Only the tall stone structures survived the destructive power of the acid rains. All sorts of metal, once exposed to the elements were quickly devoured by rust.

Rust and decay was as much a part of his world as was growth and renewal. For every sign of destruction there was an opposing sign of change and rebirth. The world could be considered in sadness if one chose to see it so, or the exact opposite could also seem true. It depended on his mood from day to day which he would choose. After all it was now his world and he had the power to be happy or sad as often as he felt like it. It was as if no external force could dictate his mind set it was totally up to him. In the past he might get cut off in traffic and experience road rage while exchanging expletives and curses with the offender. Or he might find himself trapped in an endlessly long line at the checkout stand and give in to a fit. But now he had no one but himself to care for or argue with. He had become master of his universe. And so it was now up to him entirely as to what each day would bring to bear. He fiddled with his shoe laces until he was certain that the double knot would hold and prepared to head out in search of anything that he might find useful. The shabby condition of his home was of no consequence since there remained no one to criticize his lack of taste. The one detail he found to his liking was that all of the entrances and windows, although damaged and glass free, the remnant of metal bars fitted tightly into place provided a feeling of protection. This baffled him as well though, since no danger had presented itself since arriving here. As far as he could tell there was nothing to be scared of or worry about.

The man’s stomach gave a noisy rumble from deep inside him and reminded him about the inevitable food shortage that soon awaited him if he didn’t find a new supply quickly. It had already been over twelve hours since his last green apple had been ingested and he could feel the effects of hunger starting to claw at the door. After dressing and packing a shoulder bag with a knife and some string he started off. After close to an hour of walking he glanced up at the bright clear sky and closed his eyes for a moment to let the warmth caress his cheeks. Even with his eyes closed tightly the orange glow of the sun’s rays lit up the insides of his eyelids and a calm peace washed over him. It was times like this that made him glad to be alive. It was always the simple things that meant the most. If he hadn’t taken the time to stop and experience them he might just as well pass them by unnoticed. He contemplated for a minute out loud “None of you ever took the time to stop and smell the roses, sure you all repeated the saying and knew what it meant but none of you ever actually took the time to do it.” “It was all just talk and in the end it was your stubbornness that destroyed you.” He shouted out for the trees and rocks to hear. But the pause that followed was suddenly dashed as a single frightening sound broke his concentration!

"Who…?” was all his ears registered before spinning around to his left and simultaneously opening his eyes in horror! He was so startled that he dropped his hand made weapon and almost fell before steadying himself as he stared in disbelief at a young man standing not more than twenty feet away! He just stood still as if he were a rabbit caught in the direct sights of a predator. For the first time in years he forgot how to speak. Thoughts came flooding from every recess of his mind but he lacked the ability to make his mouth and throat coordinate into speech. The same man who had spent years talking out loud to himself so as not to forget language and here he was as speechless as a mute. He realized that he couldn’t remember how to ask a question! For in all of his solitude he only made statements and had no reason to inquire of anyone. It occurred to him that he had forgotten how to ask. All of these thoughts raced through his mind at once before halting to ask of himself first “Is this real or all part of my imagination?” He had spent years or what he had imagined had been years, by himself. Sure at first he entertained the notion that he wasn’t the only man left and that soon he would encounter a peer at some point. But that hope had dissipated with the steady passing of time. Eventually he went through the stages of shock, loss, grief and anger and had finally settled on acceptance. But with that acceptance came the reality that “he would never look upon another human being as long as he lived.” But now he was faced with the shock that “his whole world and everything he had believed was possible might be wrong and it frightened him. All of this washed across his mind in a blinding instant of time and was followed by the rest of the young man’s question to him. “… are you shouting at?”

Dumbfounded he replayed the question over and over in his head “Who are you shouting at?”… “Who are you… shouting at?” It was as if it were a foreign language to him. Then the thin veil of recognition fell and he suddenly understood the question. Only, then he wasn’t sure how to answer or if he should answer. “Who am I shouting at?” he asked himself out loud. Then after just a few seconds of silence, he turned and walked away. He kept walking as he had originally planned for some distance before stopping and checking behind him. Nothing was there, just as he had thought it was just his mind playing tricks on him. It had happened before; this wasn’t the first time that he thought he had seen someone out of his peripheral vision. But each time it turned out to be a bird or tree not a real live person. “Well it seems that you’re at it again!” He stated walking on in a southerly direction.

The sun hung high in the sky while the man looked for the narrowest point to cross the large stream of water that blocked his way. He bent down and soaked a dry rag in the cool racing waters then wrung it out and washed the sweat from his forehead and face. It felt good against his skin. He then reached into one of his oversized pants pockets and retrieved a small handful of chestnuts which was to be the last of his food until he was fortunate enough to locate something better. He counted the tiny pieces one at a time not wanting to miss a single morsel. “One, Two, Three, Four and Five”. He counted aloud. He pinched each piece; between his right index finger and thumb from held inside left palm, one at a time and placed them to his mouth and chewing until gone before picking up the next. Once he had finished the last of his modest repast, he went back to his mission and located a place in the stream to cross over. He stepped gingerly from one partially submerged stone to another until he reached the other side and climbed up the steep grass covered bank. He made it to the top and relaxed for a moment to catch his breath before getting up and continuing on his way again. The forest was thick with trees and brush. Thorny bushes and thickets full of berry bushes clung to his clothes as he passed by. He stopped to take advantage of the berries he knew to be safe and leaving the ones he wasn’t sure of. Raspberries and mulberries were plentiful and he even managed to find some small wild strawberries along the way. Every few seconds the skin on his tan arms would brush up against one of the long sharp thistles; laying open his flesh and releasing a tiny trickle of blood. Careful to get too cut up he stomped down the sharp weeds with his boot but it was a slow and tedious task at best. Eventually he made his way through the thickest part of vegetation and into a clearing of green grass and tall trees sparsely scattered around the immense flatland. He ignored the sting of sweat running down his badly scratched arms. He focused on his task and pressed on. It was midafternoon by his estimation and he needed water. He lowered the string over his left shoulder and let the half full gallon jug fall to the ground behind him. He squatted down and drank from the jugs mouth. The water had begun to warm up since being drawn from the stream but it tasted wonderful to one who couldn’t take any clean water for granted.

He took his time returning the jugs cap and slipping the string back over his shoulder when he heard a rustling among the thick brush he had just come through. He watched nervously as leaves and vines jostled back and forth and the sound of twigs snapping in succession continued for a minute and then came to a standstill. He slowly backed away in anticipation of some unseen predator. But if soon became obvious that whatever it was must have gone away. After enough time had passed and nothing emerged from the thicket he returned to his mission once again and put considerable distance between him and that place. The forest thinned out even more up ahead and opened up at the foot of a huge marble obelisk that lay on its side, shattered at one point near its middle and crossed another spire just underneath it. A smile took shape on the man’s lips as he realized that he had finally reached his destination, the southern cross.

It was a little past supper time and the man could both feel and hear rumblings of hunger from his gut. He pulled out the rag he had rinsed in the brook earlier and opened it. A pile of mashed berries were smeared along the inside and he scraped the make shift jam from the cloth with hi tongue. Rather than satiate him the sweet mess only managed to stimulate his hunger more. He swiftly took stock of his surroundings until spotting what looked like an apple tree. He didn’t want to hope but couldn’t resist the urge to run in pursuit of a prized he desperately wanted. He ran and leaped over obstacles all the way like a stag until he reached the tree and found it covered in small green apples. All over the ground under and around the broad tree lay endless piles of small round delights. He swatted away the bees that feasted on the dropped fruit and scooped up one after another and devoured it, core and all. He then took off his soiled shirt and gathered as many apples as he could stretch into the improvised sack. He totes his treasure over his right shoulder and marched off like a triumphant warrior returning home with his spoils until taking cover under the ruins of the fallen monument. Like a cave of smoothly polished marble he sat on a stump like a king striding a magnificent throne and rested. He untied the end of his shirt and inspected his delicious haul every few minutes to make sure it didn’t disappeared like a mirage created by his starvation. He leaned against the stone wall and rests his forehead on the cool surface. His eyes slowly closed and he drifted off to sleep even though it was still light out which was unusual for the man. His breathing shallow and his bodies many mechanisms slowing he slept like a child in the safety of his rocky cradle. The dark of night faded and gave way to dawn as the man rose and stretched. He immediately checked his shirt full of apples and found everything the way he had last left it. He took a few and shined the outsides of the fruit on his pant leg before starting his meal. He ate quickly in spite of his self-inflicted warning to “Slow down, you’ll make yourself sick”. But he was in no need of criticism he only wanted to fill his belly for the first time in nearly a week and he did just that. When he had finished and wiped the juice from his chin he stashed his bag of food under thea pile of sticks and leaves for safe keeping and then headed back to the tree. He figured that fruit trees need a lot of water so it stood to reason that there had to be some fresh water nearby. He searched for a few minutes in one direction and then another until he caught sight of a creek to the north. He knelt beside the water and cleared away the fallen leaves from a small pool and dipped his cupped hand into the clear water and brought it to his nose and then to his lips and took a drink. It was refreshing and cold and he wasted no time gulping down as much as he wanted. He then dumped the tepid liquid from his jug and refilled it with fresh water. He was pleased with his new found sustenance and hydration situation and turned to head back to his shelter and food when he heard that awful sound again. “Hello.”  
The man froze for a second and then whirled around back toward the creek. Across the shallow creek stood the same young wraith that had haunted him just the day before. He was getting tired of being followed by ghosts and was now beginning to seethe with anger at the intrusion! He raised his fist in defiance and screamed “Get away from me, leave me alone!” and then dashed off toward his camp. He ran as fast as his spindly legs could carry him until he finally reached camp and searched for his spear. He uncovered it from the same brush that concealed his shirt and food. He pulled it loose and turned back in the direction from which he had just come only to find himself face to face with the ghost! He jabbed his spear in the ghost’s direction holding it with both hands between him and his enemy. “Go!” he yelled! But his pursuer just held his ground and smiled while raising both of his hands in front of him with his open palms facing the scared man. “I’m not your enemy” The wraith told him in a soft voice, and then began to cough. He coughed twice to the man’s amazement. “I didn’t know ghosts got sick.” The man told his foe. “I told you, I’m not your enemy, I mean you no harm”. The strange apparition spoke again. The two beings squared off and neither made any move. The man hadn’t spoken to the phantoms that occupied his visions before. They just sort of gave up and went away. But this one was persistent. “What do you want?” the man asked in desperation. “I just want to talk.” Spoke the young man. “May I sit?” he inquired. The old man wasn’t about to lower his weapon but he would entertain the ghost just this one time and pointed to a log lying on its side. The ghost sat and crossed his ankles as though he was relaxed. The old man felt uneasy but sat on his make shift throne and considered his visitor. “No need to bridge the gap between us, just stay where you are.” The old man grumbled. “I’m ever so pleased to make your acquaintance.” The phantom told him. “Is there anyone else or are you all alone?” asked the phantom. The man regarded his question and decided it best to be cautious. Instead he asked a question of his own. “What sort of phantom are you and why do you have a weird accent?” He demanded of his guest. His guest smiled and told the man. “A phantom, I’m nothing of the sort and as for my accent, where I come from you would be the one with the peculiar accent not I.” He explained obtusely. The old man wasn’t interested in games and plainly asked him again. “What do you want?” he asked. The young man reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a small pocket knife and offered it to his host. The man looked it over from where he sat and lifted his eyes to the other man’s face and asked “you offering me that?” His guest tossed it to him gently and the old man caught it. He looked it over in his hand and then tossed it back. The ghost caught it then told him “I figured that might come in handy for cutting up your apples.” He said gesturing to the few apples that had fallen loose from the make shift sack. “May I have one?” asked the stranger. The old man picked up an apple and tossed it to the ghost who again showed a fair amount of coordination and caught it in the air. “Never played catch with a ghost before.” The old man said with a slight grin. The ghost laughed “I told you Im not a ghost or phantom or whatever you think I am. ”explained the stranger. “I’m flesh and blood same as you.” The old man considered his words and then decided to test him. “Then take a bite of that apple and chew it up then.” He ordered. The other man put the small green apple to his mouth and took a large bite and began chewing it and then swallowed and it was gone. “Convinced I’m real now?” He asked in amusement. The old man smiled and said “Guess ghosts don’t eat apples, so I guess you’re real”. He told his new acquaintance. Both men smiled and laughed while they ate.

“I’m new to here.” The young man told the older one. “Oh, how impolite, my name is Thomas.” He said. The older man thought a second and then simply sputtered out “Walter.” “Pleased to make your acquaintance Walter.” As the young man rose from his seat and offered his right hand. Walter rose to meet him and shook his hand firmly. “You’ve got a manly grip there.” Said Thomas. Walter sat back and grinned. “So where do you come from?” asked Thomas. The older man pointed back the direction he had come. “How about you?” Walter asked curiously. “All this time I thought I was the last one.” Walter told him. Thomas looked at him with concern. “I didn’t think I would find a friend until yesterday when I spotted you”. Thomas told him. “Why did you yell and then walk away from me?” Thomas asked. The older man considered the question and then replied back “What would you have done if you were the only one and you turned around and found somebody talking to you?” Thomas understood his meaning and apologized. “Sorry for the imposition, I should have announced myself sooner and made you aware of my presence.” Thomas said respectfully. “Where have you been all this time?” asked Walter. The younger man lay down on the grass and stretched his legs and made a pillow of his jacket before talking further. “You see I was a spy for her majesty.” Thomas went on. “At the time of the big rush, I was the only man left while everyone else had gone.” “I watched the news until I lost Wi-Fi and all communications. Then I waited till the next day for any sign of my mates until I finally chose to see what was going on, and took a walk.” Thomas stopped and looked down at the apple cores lying on the grass in front of him with a solemn look in his eyes. “What did you see?” asked his new friend. “everything and nothing.” Said Thomas. “Same here.” Walter said in like-minded recognition. “I woke up to a world disappeared.” Said Walter. Both men looked at each other but neither could find the words. Then Walter went on to explain how he had been on his own for a long time.” Thomas looked at him strangely. “Tell me about yourself Walter.”

Walter took a deep breath and sighed. “Not much to tell really. “From a very early age I was fascinated by history. While my peers shot daggers at our teachers from first grade on up until we graduated high school; I on the other hand listened intently. This wasn’t because I was a gifted student or even a good student at all. It was merely because I wanted to see if the person getting paid to teach me knew what they were teaching me. In most cases I was disappointed to find out that none of them were in the least bit interested in history themselves. Had they been history buffs or scholars worth their paycheck, I would have recognized it immediately. Instead I sat, slumped down in my seat, legs straight out in front of me and head resting on the desk in back of me while I rolled my eyes in disbelief. As a kid I understood on one level why my fellow class mates were disinterested. They were quite vocal concerning their particular viewpoint and that was; “Why do we have to learn about this stuff, its old news and has nothing to do with me now?”

“Now I’m not completely insensitive to their plight or some sort of a history-snob. I could see their point. Why would a bunch of old dates and names of people who have been dead for longer than Ive been alive, of any benefit to me? In effect the kids were asking “Why is this important, how does it benefit me?” and that is a valid question. Unfortunately that question never received any kind of satisfying answer. None of the “anchormen” we’ll call them, could offer any sensible explanation as to why it should matter to the kids or myself. Instead they simply parroted the same, lame excuse year after year. “If we don’t know our history, we’re doomed to repeat it!” All I can say is “B*llSh*t!” That’s right I call “BS” on that canned answer! Why? Well 1st *they never bothered to explain any further just what that meant. They never broke it down into language that a kid (who played childhood games, played with dolls or toy trucks and still believed in their own fantasy worlds) could understand. Relative to a child’s mind, you have to break the meaning down.“

“Most young people learned from their parents and family first through association and dialogue and then from what they observe every day and then finally from what some adult tried to impress on them in school. The main problem is that “anchormen” did’t know how to talk with children. Now before I go any further I guess it’s only fair to explain what the term “anchorman” actually means. For the purpose of discussion, I will refer from now on to anyone commonly referred to as a “teacher” by the title of “anchormen”. This is because most, not all but most teachers did’t teach. The very term is false from the beginning so it needs dropped from this point further. I would qualify most “mechanics” as “parts changers” much the same way. Most guys that worked on cars professionally or at least for money did’t really know much about internal combustion engines or electric alternators or anything else in modern vehicles. They may have spent time playing with small engines like chainsaws, lawn mowers or even larger motors in older model cars or trucks but they are completely ignorant of modern technology. The fact is that they could’t diagnose or figure out what’s wrong with an automobile any more than most doctors could diagnose you or I. They just knew how to change out old parts for new ones at a considerable cost to you, hoping to have solved your problems by process of elimination. And when I say “doctors” I really mean “Test Readers”. The fellow or female that we commonly called a physician was in fact nothing more than a “person who read test results and guesses by the same familiar, process of elimination.” Television shows like ER and Greys Anatomy or my personal favorite “House” were as fictional as any episode of Star Trek or Spiderman movie. Just as a “parts changer” has no idea of what was actually wrong with your car, “Test Readers” had no idea what’s wrong with you. The ordered tests and x-rays and MRI’s and CT Scan’s and Bloodwork etc. in order to determine what might possibly be wrong with you. Once a “test reader” reviewed your test results or has someone else read them for them and give them an answer, then they interpreted what the results mean. All of this information was found in medical books or Google, where you could look it up yourself. But insurance “big racket”, required a certified physician who went to school and paid for a license to give you the usual answer… “there’s nothing wrong, I can’t find anything wrong with you.” Wow, all of that time and money and education to tell you that “you are mistaken, your fine.” Meanwhile when you returned home and found blood dripping from your ass or nose or double over in excruciating pain, you can relax and be sure that it’s all in your head. When you watched a program like House, you saw him and his team working furiously and without sleep for days racking their collective genius minds for the answer to your complex medical problem. In real life, you just got a halfhearted glance and eyes rolling when you turn around and your expensive “I can’t find anything.” And that’s how the real world worked. Sure there are fine doctors out there who went to school and applied themselves and got straight A’s. But there are far more “test readers” out there who went to school, partied and barely graduated with a C.”

"So that brings me back to our “anchormen”, so named because a television anchorman on the news, didn’t investigate stories, do back ground checking or research information. They simply sit at a desk and smile while they read what is being typed onto the teleprompter by someone else who didn’t do any of that either. Reporters did the work and the anchorman simply repeated it. And so now you understand what I mean. The anchormen who watched children all day and got paid to inform them, were no more than parrots. They read out of a lesson plan that someone else prepared and read out of textbooks, that someone else wrote and recited facts. Unfortunately for you and I, no one ever checked to see if any of those facts were correct.”

"A common custom among most of the people of that world was to believe whatever they are told. You just have to trust that you were being fed the right information. But even if they didn’t, it didn’t matter because no one ever checked or questioned the truth of what was being dished out. Now stop right there! You are probably thinking “Oh boy a conspiracy nut.” But put your rose colored glasses away for just a minute and ask yourself “have I ever really seen an atom?” or “Have I ever really seen a real dinosaur bone?” or “have I ever measured the distance from New York City to Paris?” Well, have you? Ok you might be thinking “Yes I have seen a real dinosaur bone!” Now I have a surprise for you. “No you haven’t.” Not unless you were a world renowned Paleontologist, or had a key to the Smithsonian. The truth is, and it’s not a secret… “Real dinosaur bones were kept in special climate controlled vaults in the basement of the Smithsonian and other prestigious museums around the world.” At least that is what the general public had been told for the past hundred years. “Real” dinosaur bones are far too valuable and brittle to be touched and passed around. All of the skeleton’s and bones that are on display around the world for you to look at and touch, are ‘plaster castings’ or reproductions of the supposed “real” bones that are kept under lock and key. Huh! So, no you haven’t seen any real bones from a dinosaur. Just like you believed in good faith that atoms really exist or look like the pictures you’ve seen in books. We took most of what we knew on faith. We trust the “people who knew” to feed us the truth. You haven’t tried measuring the distance between New York and Paris have you?”

“Don’t be disheartened, nobody else had either. Actually if you stop and think about it, how much of what you knew, can you positively say without reservation that you know it to be the absolute truth? How do you know that water is made of Hydrogen atoms and Oxygen? I’m not trying to dispute everything in the world that we’ve been told but isn’t it worth questioning some of the “truths” that we held so dear? Even Jesus and his apostles gave instructions to “test and see” what is true. Not to blindly believe everything we hear.”

"So let’s begin with some of the simpler subjects. Let’s start with Sports. Sports had been around since the dawn of man in one form or another. Competition existed in many forms. Warfare was one basic form of competition. Most people confused competition with competitiveness. But a person is capable of competing such as in a friendly board game or game of touch football without being overly competitive. In ancient times when there was peace soldiers would practice their accuracy, competing with a comrade or friend in order to push each other to improve. In this sense competition is called “healthy”. In contrast to good competition as fun recreation or honing of a particular skill, the “spirit of competition” becomes negative. Taking the game so seriously that to loose is considered unthinkable or unacceptable. In this case the opposing competitors are not enjoying the game, they are in opposition to one another! That is the bad side of competition, the win at all costs attitude.”

“The ancient Greeks considered athletics as attaining to perfection by molding and shaping a body to its limits. The Roman’s however, being driven to concur and control took sport to its darkest ends. In the time of Rome’s ascension to world power and domination the emperors dealt with political and social unrest among its starving citizens and working class by erecting stadiums and arranging games to entertain the masses. They knew that spectacles within the arena would pacify the multitudes, creating a distraction from their daily misery. Games mixed with intoxicating wine kept the lower classes content and gave them hope as well as a means to gamble and create chances for advancement. An entire economic system emerged around the gladiatorial games and chariot races. Money exchanged hands and men became rich or poor in an instant. With this new influx of money came more corruption.”

“The lesson learned clear back in ancient Rome continued to play out in the form of professional sports. Gladiators were replaced with football players and hockey players. The games for distracting the masses became bigger business than ever conceived in the past. But the undercurrent remained the same. Distract the worker or slave from his miserable daily life and keep him under control. Pacify him so that he won’t stand up and fight back. Sadly the average worker was oblivious to his leash and fell in line with a smile and a beer, rooting for his favorite gladiator in total ignorance while his masters laughed on and celebrated at the common man’s expense.”

“Men who did get fed up with life and government spoke of revolution and spit out big talk of taking back their country. But the next day when they had a full belly of breakfast and got dressed, they went back to work and did nothing to change their world.” “But I knew, I knew what was going on and how government and religion had lied to us all. I spotted the lies and the hypocrisy.”

Thomas lay motionless on the ground. Walter leaned forward and found him fast asleep. “He didn’t hear a word I said.” Walter said to himself out loud. He shook his head and remembered; “people don’t want to hear the truth! They never learned. They only cared about filling their belly and watching sports. They continued to repeat history over and over again. When you try to tell someone something truly important, they just close their eyes and ears and go to sleep.”

Walter joined his new companion on the ground and drifted off as well. In the morning they ate as Walter told Thomas of his home back up over the mountain. Thomas wanted to see this home Walter had described to him so they headed back the way they had come. They traversed back along the route that had gotten them to the apples until reaching Walters humble abode. He showed him inside and explained about the acid rains. Thomas curiously wondered around inspecting the room and listening to Walters stories of how he had found this place some time ago, until he came across the sign hanging on the wall. He studied it for a minute as Walter walked over and joined him. “Something huh?” Walter said. “Yeah.” Answered Thomas. “I’ve been looking at that thing for so long now, I just wish I knew what it said.” Walter lamented. Thomas’ eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed as he slowly turned to his confused friend. “It says, Walter Reed Hospital, Psychiatric Ward, Washington DC.”

Thomas stood to Walters left but a hand took hold of Walters upper right arm and pulled him. Walter looked up in surprise. “Hello Robert.” A man dressed in white scrubs said to Walter as he tried to direct him toward a wheelchair. “What is this?” Walter asked confused. “It’s time for your medicine Robert.” The well-groomed man in white said. Walter stopped and looked around. He found himself in a large room full of people dressed in hospital gowns. He couldn’t understand what was happening. A nurse walked up to Walter with a smile. “Hello Robert, are you settling in to your new home?” “I see you met Thomas, he’s new here too.”


End file.
